I Swear
by bluebunny28
Summary: The night Stiles gets beaten by Gerard Argent, his father doesn't see him until the following morning. The previous night he had had one too many drinks and can't remember everything that happened. When Stiles acts shifty when he asks about the bruises, the Sheriff has some dark thoughts.


I Swear

 **So, my first Teen Wolf fan fiction! I have to say, I am quite the fan, but I have only seen the first season and the first episode of the second. I know, I know! I'll get on that. This story is an alternate version of an episode from season 2 that I have obviously not seen.**

 **Constructive criticism welcome! Reviews loved!**

 **Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Teen Wolf. (I would be very happy if I did though)**

 **Sheriff's name is John.**

Sheriff Stilinski was driving back home from the hospital. He had hoped someone (see: Melissa McCall) would be able to tell him where his son was, but no one knew anything. He was about ready to start a town-wide manhunt. However, he knew the rules. 24 hours. He had to wait 24 freaking hours before he could report his son missing. Being the sheriff didn't mean he could bypass that no matter how much he wished he could at that moment. A few of his deputies insisted he go home, wait for Stiles to come back.

Maybe he was out…partying or something, they suggested. He'll come back when he's done celebrating. Stiles _had_ shot the winning goal. Maybe…The sheriff sighed as his house came into view, and no jeep was in the drive way. It made him want to keep driving around, hoping he might just come across his son. However, John forced himself to pull in and turn off the cruiser. After a few moments sitting behind the wheel in silence, he slapped his hand against it and angrily left the car.

He unlocked the door and slammed it shut behind him. The silence of the house only irritated him further. The sheriff did the smart thing and locked up his firearm and badge, before changing and returning downstairs. He set an alarm on his watch, for exactly when he could report his son missing and start a search. Then he wandered to the kitchen…and pulled out his whiskey. He stared at the bottle for a few minutes, before grabbing a glass and filling it.

The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat, and he felt the warmth spreading through him. It wasn't relaxing him like it normally did though. So one glass turned into two, which turned into five then seven, before almost the entire bottle was gone. The sheriff was settled in his chair in the living room, staring gloomily at the front door. His thoughts were all jumbled up and he would find himself crying one moment and irrationally angry the next. He was stricken with terror and grief at thoughts of finding his son's dead body in the morning, then fury would overtake him at the thought of Stiles being out partying and worrying him to death.

At one point, he threw his glass at the front door, and it shattered against the wall next to it. Around one in the morning, he passed out in his chair and nightmare after nightmare plagued him the rest of the night.

 **TWTWTW**

The next morning, John woke with a severe headache. He rubbed his face a few times, trying to clear his mind up a bit. Opening his eyes seemed to be a mistake, and he quickly slammed them shut. After a few moments and deep breathing, John slowly opened his eyes and looked at his watch. He was lucky, as he still had an hour before he needed to go into work. Then it hit him.

Stiles. John was bolting upright immediately, despite his hangover and found himself- fighting to get out from under a blanket. The sheriff froze and looked at his lap, where the throw was bunched up. He then turned to look at the side table next to him and saw a glass of water with aspirin already set out for him.

Once again, John found himself flying out of his chair, this time, however, he was successful.

"Stiles!" He was halfway up the stairs when Stiles's bedroom door burst open, and his son tripped out.

"Dad! What is it?! Are you okay?" John didn't even stop before rushing up the rest of the stairs and enveloping his son in a hug. Stiles, surprised at first, reciprocated, and they stood at the top of the stairs embracing for a few moments. Finally, the sheriff clapped Stiles on the back and pulled away to look at him.

"Where were you?! I was so wo-" John froze when he saw Stiles's face. There were bruises and a split lip staring back at him. "Stiles, what the hell happened? Who did this?" John didn't miss Stiles's flinch, when he caught his son's chin between his fingers and turned his face side to side, trying to get a better view of all the damage Rage was boiling in his gut, thinking about someone hurting his boy.

Stiles gave a bitter little chuckle and rubbed the back of his head. He indulged his father's check-up until John's hand started to pull at his shirt.

"Whoa, Dad! Everything is fine. Just some bruises. It was…just some guys..from the other team. You know…all pissed off cause I beat their asses last night." Stiles had his trademark smirk on his face, though John didn't miss the wince when it pulled at his split lip.

"Really? And what are these punks' names? I think I should pay them a visit." Stiles shook his head vigorously.

"C'mon, Dad. It's fine. Don't do that. You'd just be wasting your time." John didn't like how defensive his son was getting. A small part of him was screaming that Stiles was lying, but why would he lie about something like this? After a few moments, where Stiles fidgeted under his dad's gaze, before he sighed.

"Fine. But, Son…you know you can talk to me about anything, right? I'll listen." Stiles's lips pinched together, and he nodded, further expanding the Sheriff's theory that his son was keeping something big from him. Finally with a sigh, he gestured towards his room.

"Well, I've got to get ready for work. I'll see you downstairs for breakfast." Stiles nodded and they went their separate ways.

When John came back downstairs, he stopped to take the aspirin his son had left for him, and carried the glass into the kitchen. He saw his bottle of whiskey, empty and in the trash, and he couldn't help the guilt that came over him. He had come home and gotten drunk instead of staying out and searching more or at least staying up in case Stiles came home.

Stiles was making eggs and…turkey bacon. The sheriff grimaced, but figured he wouldn't fight his son on what real bacon was this morning.

The silence was broken by the shrill ringing of his work phone.

"Sheriff Stilinski." The sheriff was then regaled with the story of Jackson Whittemore's 'miraculous resurrection'. He was stunned, but greatly relieved. That was one less thing he had to worry about. Then the deputy asked if Stiles had come home.

"Yeah. Stiles is here. He had a run in with some of the guys from the other team, but he's okay. So, I'll see you soon. Yes. You too. Bye." He hung up, just in time for Stiles to slide a plate in front of him.

"You know, I feel like I should be the one making breakfast. Maybe…do you want to stay home from school today?" Stiles looked at his father, shocked that he would suggest it, but then shook his head.

"Nah, I'm good. I've got a test in Economics and even though I made that shot last night, Finstock wouldn't pass me if I wasn't even there for it." The sheriff nodded and they finished the meal in silence. However, it wasn't a comfortable silence. John glanced up a few times to see Stiles fidgeting in his seat. This wasn't an unusual occurrence, in fact it happened whenever Stiles sat down. The difference was that he got the strong sense that his son wanted to tell him something, but was holding back.

"Um, Dad? I think you better get to work." John looked at his watch and cursed. He stood and went to wash his plate, but Stiles stopped him. "I've got it, Dad. Go keep Beacon Hills safe from those mountain lions and speedsters." The sheriff rolled his eyes, but fondly and patter his son's shoulder as he passed.

"Have a good day at school, Son. You did study for that test, right?" Stiles just smirked, and waved his dad off. John got in his car and started to drive off, and that was when he saw his hands.

His knuckles were bruised and cut in places. He didn't remember hitting anyth- A pressure fell over his chest, and he had to pull over to calm down.

John drank a lot last night. Most of the evening was a blur, but he did remember a few things. He remembered feeling distressed, then extremely angry. John was also sure he had thrown something at the door….what if?

 _Oh…oh no, please no._ John felt like he was going to be sick. He shook his head and tried to throw the terrible possibilities that plagued him out of his head. After a few deep breaths, he calmly started his car back up and drove to the station. There were a hundred other explanations for the state of his knuckles.

He was in a fog as he pulled into his parking space and pushed open the doors. His deputy greeted him with a wide grin.

"Hey, Sheriff. Man, guess it was just a lucky night." John only gave her a tight smile and nod, before gesturing towards his office.

"Yeah, guess so. I'm just gonna…do paperwork. There's got to be a lot of paperwork after all of this, right? Well, that's where I'll be. My office, doing paperwork. All day. Just…tell me if something important happens." The deputy seemed taken aback, but John didn't bother trying to explain. He simply walked past her and quickly closed the door to his office, almost considering locking it.

Most people just assumed Stiles's babble was due to his ADHD or that it came from his mother. While Claudia had quite the imagination and could keep up with their son, the mouth came from him. It was a Stilinski trait….which he had gotten control of a long time ago. Stiles's attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder just…made that control a lot harder to master. John's babble mouth only came out when he couldn't get ahold of his emotions and his thoughts were scattered. When his wife was sick, many nights he would snap and call his dad to just talk at him.

This though…this was just…so much worse. He fell into his desk chair and, elbows propped on the table, held his head in his hands.

 _What am I going to do?_

 **TWTWTW**

"What am I going to do man? Dad's already suspicious and now this!" Stiles gestured wildly to his face, almost smacking Scott in the process and throwing his food everywhere. Scott, long used to Stiles's spastic movements, dodged easily and patted Stiles's shoulder.

"I don't know, dude. Maybe…maybe you should just tell him?" Stiles froze for a second, mouth hanging open, before he got even more…Stiles.

"No! Absolutely not. Bad idea. Bad Scott. No more thinking for you." They reached the lunch table and sat down with their food. They were quiet for a few moments, but Stiles was never good at staying quiet.

"You know why I can't tell him," he said while staring at his food. Scott looked at his best friend, his brother, and just couldn't stop the anger that boiled up in him as he stared at the bruises on his face.

"Look, man…you know I know about relationships, right? Well, no matter what kind it is, it's built on trust. You can't keep lying to your dad, no matter how 'safe' you think it will keep him. Stiles, you dad is a sheriff. Danger is part of his _job_. Not to mention, if your dad knew, it would make all of this supernatural crap a lot easier to deal with." Stiles was quietly stabbing his food, refusing to look at his brother and acknowledge the actual mature, well-thought out words Scott had said.

"I just…I can't lose him too, Scott." Scott knew he couldn't push any more, and they spent the rest of lunch in silence, both picking at their food, until the bell rang.

 **TWTWTW**

Stiles got home around five thirty, lacrosse practice having been extra brutal. He swore his muscles were having a bon fire under skin, and he winced as he slid out of his jeep.

Once inside the house, Stiles threw his backpack on the floor and flopped face-down on the couch, groaning into the pillows. He quickly adjusted his position, however, when the pillow caught his split lip and tugged. With an arm thrown over his eyes (one black, one his usual pasty white), Stiles seriously considered just staying there the rest of the weekend. Man was he glad it was Friday.

"Stiles?" The teenager quickly sat up and looked at his dad, surprised to see him home so early. He must have really not been paying attention to not have noticed the other car in the driveway.

"Dad? What are you doing here? I mean- not that it's not cool that you're home, I just…you know…figured you had the night shift and all." When Stiles stopped, he actually looked at his dad, and his heart rate picked up speed. He had never seen him look like that. It was as if he was walking to his own execution. "Dad? Are you okay?"

John huffed out a dark laugh, no humor in it, and shook his head.

"No. No, Son, I'm not. We…need to talk." Stiles swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Alright. Then…let's talk." John nodded and sat next his son on the couch, when Stiles moved over for him. It took John a few minutes to really collect himself. Finally, with one last deep breath he looked his son straight in the eyes and said,

"Son, I'm… _so_ sorry." Stiles was taken back and stared at his dad, completely confused.

"For what, Dad? What's going on?" John shook his head and looked down at his knuckles, and that's when Stiles got it.

"What?! No! Just…no. Dad, you didn't…I already told you that it was-"

"'Guys from the other team'. Yeah, Stiles. I know that that's what you said. But, I also know you're lying." Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"Ah…well that depends on your definition of lying." John heaved a big sigh.

"Stiles! I can't…I don't remember what happened last night, but I woke up this morning, you were beaten, _badly_. You lied to me about who did it, and then I notice my hands. Stiles, if you lied to me about who did it this morning, how can I believe you now when you said it wasn't me?!" Stiles couldn't help but flinch as his dad started yelling at the end, and knew that wasn't helping his case. But he didn't flinch because he was scared of his dad (of course not!), he just couldn't bare the guilt and shame welling up in him. He was responsible for making his dad think this.

"Dad, it _wasn't_ you! I swear!" John stood up and thrust his knuckles in his son's face.

"Then how did this happen!? How did this happen, Stiles? Answer me that." Stiles's face pinched, having a full out war in his head. John's tone softened a bit, as he gently touched his son's bruised cheek. "How did this happen, Stiles? Please." If there is one thing that has always been his weakness, it is that Stiles cares too much about people. He will do any and everything to protect those he loves, and it wasn't until this moment, that he realized keeping everything from his dad wasn't protecting him. It was hurting him.

It was Stiles's turn to sigh and drop his head in his hands. Then, he reached into his pocket and texted Scott. A simple: _Come over._

"Stiles, what-" Stiles put the phone away, and John was completely overwhelmed at the resignation and the severe _sadness_ in his son's eyes.

"I just told Scott to come over. He'll help me explain…the _big_ picture of everything that's been going on."

"Everything?" John was not sure where his son was going with all of this, especially with how upset Stiles seemed to be over it. He was pretty sure Stiles wasn't involved in drugs or anything like that, but he had been lying to him for months about something. Now it seems that he was finally going to find out what it was. However…

"How is that going explain this situation, though? Is…whatever your involved in the reason that that happened?" He pointed at Stiles's face, and his son nodded.

"It was _not_ you. You would never do this." The steel in Stiles's voice was both scary and yet stirred up his heart a bit. John couldn't hold back the urge and gave in, pulling his son to his chest and squeezing as hard as he could. Stiles didn't hold back either, and neither of them cared that their ribs were beginning to ache.

However, they had to let go at some point. There were a few moments of awkward silence, before Stiles broke it.

"Well…I guess I can start with your hands." They both looked down instinctively, and the sheriff ran a thumb over his knuckles and nodded. "They were like that when I got home. You were passed out in your chair. There was glass by the front door. I guess you threw it." John vaguely remembered something like that. "I also think you punched the front door a couple of times." John's face shot up.

"What?" Stiles bit the inside of his cheek, but nodded.

"When I was cleaning up the glass, I saw some marks on the door that hadn't been there before. Also…" here he scrunched his nose up in disgust. "There were some tiny pieces of…skin on the door and a drop of blood or two." John turned this over in his head for a few moments, allowing it to sink in. Finally, he nodded slowly.

"Alright. So, that explains this," once again he rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. "Now, are you going to tell me the truth about who did that?" He lifted a hand and cupped his son's jaw. Stiles pursed his lips and give a stiff nod, not looking his dad in the eye.

"Yeah…just, don't go running out of here once I tell you alright? There won't be any point." The sheriff wasn't sure exactly what that was supposed to mean, but he nodded. Stiles took another deep breath, ran his hand up and down his neck a few times, before he finally spoke again.

"It was Gerard Argent." Both of John's eyebrows shot up.

"Gerard Argent? As in, Scott's girlfriend's _grandfather_?" Stiles ran his hand over his hair roughly, nodding.

"Yeah. He was trying to…was trying to get to Scott. Old man could pack a punch." Stiles tried to lighten up the tension in the room, but it obviously was not working. John was angry and was having a hard time reigning it in. Some punks from the other lacrosse team sounded a lot better now. But no. Instead of kids Stiles's age beating him up over winning the game, he was attacked by an _adult._ But how was Scott wrapped up in this?

"Explain." Stiles grimaced. He really didn't know where to start. However, he was literally saved by the bell…or, well knock. Scott was at the door, which was exactly what he needed. John opened his mouth to tell Stiles to not get the door, but decided against it. His son invited Scott for a reason. His best friend was involved, and John could crack Scott better than he could get to Stiles when his kid really wanted to hide something.

He heard them talking quietly by the front door, and got up to stop any sort of conspiracy to bend the truth. He expected heads bent together and shifty looks. What he saw instead was not that at all.

Stiles looked defeated. His hands were shaking, and Scott looked two seconds away from wrapping his friend in a hug. Which he did, and then locked eyes with the sheriff. There was something so much older in his eyes, than John had ever seen.

The boys broke apart, and Stiles turned, only to jump upon seeing him. Stiles ran his hands over his head again and breathed out slowly.

"Okay, um…maybe we should do this sitting down. Yeah. Dad, you should sit down." John nodded once and walked back into the living room, the boy's following. Stiles sat on the opposite end of the couch from him, as if he could distance himself from the situation, and Scott stood in the middle of the room, shifting from foot to foot.

"I don't have my gun on me, Scott. Stop looking like I'm about to shoot you." Stiles gave a short, bitter laugh, and Scott only looked more anxious. Finally, seeing as Scott was not going to start the conversation, Stiles leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Okay…I guess I'll start. It's kinda my fault all of this happened anyway."

"Stiles! That's not true!" Stiles and Scott had a glaring match, before Stiles continued.

"Anyway, Dad, remember that night you were looking for…the other half of Laura Hale's body?" John was taken aback.

"You were out wandering the woods. Scott was with you wasn't he?" Stiles nodded. Scott decided to jump in then and take over.

"Yeah, well, when I was trying to find my way back to the road, I got attacked…by a wolf." John raised an eyebrow.

"A wolf? There aren't any wolves in California." Stiles barked out a laugh.

"Yeah. That's what I told him." Scott and Stiles looked at each other, trying to figure out where to go next. After a few shrugs and spastic eyebrows and hand movements from his son, John prodded.

"Well? Where are you going with this?" Stiles finally looked at his dad, and bit his lip.

"Dad…just, don't freak out. Deep breaths, okay. Scott's gonna show you something." John gave his son the benefit of the doubt, nodded and turned to Scott. The boy looked to be readying himself for something, and then-

"What the Hell!?" John jumped up and put himself between Stiles and…Scott? Scott's face returned to normal and he held his hands up.

"It's okay, Mr. Stilinski. I'm still me just…" John hadn't moved from his defensive position, even though he felt Stiles prodding at his shoulder.

"Just. What?"

"Dad. Scott _was_ bitten by a wolf that night…just, you know, one controlled by the full moon rather than a regular _Canis Lupus_." John took a few deep breaths and slowly put his arms down.

"So….werewolves." Stiles huffed and fell back onto the couch. Scott was grinning widely, happy that the Sheriff didn't shoot him.

"Yep," Stiles made sure to pop the 'p'. "Scott's one, so are Isaac, Erica, Boyd and Jackson. Jackson _was_ some crazy lizard killer thing over the past week. Hence the chaining and restraining order stuff." John slowly sat down on the couch, trying to let it all sink in.

"Okaaay. So what…or _who_ turned you into that?" Scott sat down on the floor and criss-crossed his legs.

"Peter Hale. Derek Hale's crazy uncle." John's head popped up, but before he could ask, Stiles broke in.

"Don't ask. He was in a coma, sort of; his crazy nurse let him out on the full moons. Derek had to kill him, but now he's back as the creepy crazy _undead_ uncle." John just let out a deep sigh and shook his head in disbelief.

"Alright. So….werewolves." He looked back and forth between both boys, waiting for someone to tell him it was a joke. When they didn't start laughing, he gave a bitter laugh.

"I guess I should be glad it's not drugs, huh?" Stiles's lip quirked up, while Scott rubbed the back of his neck. "So, the Hales and a handful of teenagers are werewolves. You're not?" Stiles vehemently shook his head.

"Nope. One-hundred percent, bona fide, breakable human. I mean…you know, I avoid the breaking part of that. Totally. Yeah. No breaking of the Stiles is allowed. Right, Scott?" Scott suddenly found himself being pleaded with by Stiles to twist the truth, but glared at by Sheriff Stilinski to tell the truth.

"Uhhhh…" John only had to look at his son and see the proof of his breakableness.

"Alright. So I heard plenty of names on that list, but none of them was Argent. You said Allison's grandfather did this to you. Why?" Stiles sighed and brought his knees up to his chest.

"So…the Argents go way back as a family of werewolf hunters. Gerard is like the Vito Corleone of the family, including trying to turn Allison into a little mini-Kate Argent to take over." John gave Scott a very obviously disapproving look.

"You're a werewolf, and you think dating a werewolf hunter is a good idea?" Stiles threw his hands up.

"That's what I said! But no! Scott's in love…still is even though Gerard made Allison a bit nuts and arrow happy." Scott looked like he wanted to protest, but seemed to actually think before he spoke. Stiles tensed as he saw the dark look growing on his father's face.

"Gerard was trying to get to Scott…so he took you. He kidnapped and beat up a sixteen year old boy, just because he doesn't like werewolves?" Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged.

"Pretty much. The guy was nuts. He already had Boyd and Erica. He was…torturing them….before I showed up." John rubbed his hands over his face, like he was trying to wake up from a terrible dream. But when he opened his eyes once more and saw that it wasn't, he pulled his son into his side and held him there.

"Why didn't you ever tell me, Stiles? I could've done _something_." Stiles flailed his hands around, almost smacking himself in the face.

"Because I didn't want you to!" When John immediately opened his mouth to argue, Stiles waved his hands about again. "I mean, I didn't want you to get hurt! I just…I always thought it was safer for you if you didn't know. So, I never told you. I couldn't lose you too, Dad." John sighed and squeezed the back of his son's neck.

"Ever think I might not want to lose you either, Son? I'm the Dad in this relationship. I should be protecting _you_ from…werewolves and kidnapping grandpa's." Something tickled in the back of John's mind. "You said there wouldn't be any point in me going after the person who did this to you. Why?" Scott and Stiles winced and rubbed their necks in perfect synchronization. John narrowed his eyes at the two boys. Stiles finally answered when he couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"Scott…may or may not have…killed him." John raised both eyebrows and looked back and forth between them.

"Scott? Care to..explain?" Scott's expression clearly said 'Not really', but John wasn't backing down.

"Uhhh…well, I gave him what he wanted. I bit him." John sighed in frustration and Scott explained further. "He had cancer and wanted the bite so he wouldn't die. Well, Dr. Deaton changed his pills out with mountain ash so when I bit him, his body rejected the bite." The Sheriff tried to take all of the information in. Werewolves, and no doubt other monsters, lived in his town and his son was involved. (Apparently so was the local vet) His son and his son's best friend were involved in the death of at least one person. It was all very…surreal.

He felt Stiles slip an arm around his shoulders and turned to pull his son into a full embrace.

"I can't say I'm sorry for not telling you before, but I am sorry that my not telling you led you to believe you had hurt me. I'm really sorry, Dad." The Sheriff tightened his grip before releasing his son and sighing. After a few moments of silence, John raised a brow at his son.

"I forgive you, Son. But Stiles, this means you are grounded for the indefinite future." Stiles cringed but nodded, accepting his punishment. "And any other… _werewolf_ or monster or whatever the hell else stuff happens, you come and tell me _first._ Do you understand?" Stiles looked like he really wanted to argue that, but another look from his father quelled the urge.

"Yes, Sir." The tension in John's shoulders relaxed a bit and he smiled.

"Alright. So, Scott, are you staying for dinner? We can order pizza." Before Stiles could say anything to the contrary, "And I am getting bacon on it, Stiles. You owe me that much." Stiles sighed and conceded.

"Fine. But at least eat a salad with it."

Scott smiled as he watched his best friend and his best friend's dad interact. They were going to be alright.

 **The End!**


End file.
